Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Huntley

Z ane steps deeper into the entrance of the office as the sounds of the city are muted behind the closed doors. It's an elegant but simple office established in a historic stone building—not at all clinical or what I would expect from an organ or blood bank.

"Welcome to DonorWatch gentlemen. How can I help you?" The woman who comes out to greet us is tall and her cinnamon-colored hair hangs in long curls against a teal silk blouse. She moves with the same regal grace as Zane.

"This is Zanipolo Vasari, King of the Toronto Seethe, and I am Huntley Thorsen, his second-in-command. And you are?"

"I am the founder of DonorWatch. What brings you gentlemen to my door?"

Her directness isn't rude exactly, but it's obvious she's cautious about trusting Otherworlders who show up on her doorstep unannounced. "We were directed here by a mutual acquaintance, Clare Voyant."

Her brow arches. "One of the Toronto Oracles sent you here. Why ever for?"

I hold up my finger to pause her question for the moment. "If I'm correct, you are Cassiane, Queen of Shedim demons, and the mate of one of the local Nephilim enforcers, yes?"

Her gaze narrows. "Kyrian of Thebes. That is correct."

As if summoned by her anxiety, a massive warrior steps out from the back and takes us in. He's built like a tank and his bright citrine yellow eyes rake over us, obviously judging whether we are a threat. "Is all well, Mistress?"

Cassiane offers the brute a sweet smile. "Thank you, Dougal. Yes, I believe so." She turns back to us and dips her chin. "All is well, is it not?"

I hold up my palms. "Of course. I apologize if I made you feel otherwise. Our private compound was infiltrated last night, and we are on edge. We seek those responsible and, through that search, were directed here."

"Here? I don't understand."

Zane flicks his hand and steps forward. "If you told us more about your company, we might discern why Clare sent us."

Cassiane sweeps a hand through the air, taking in the space. "DonorWatch is a company inspired by necessity. About seven years ago, I moved out of hell and brought many of my people with me. The business feeds my people and provides jobs and income to those of my clan who choose to live in the Human Realm."

"It also set a new standard in feeding members of the Darkworld," Dougal adds. "As the vampires who control the blood trade in the city, surely you understand the need to feed without raising notice."

Zane nods. "I understand that very well. So, how do you support those feeding needs?"

"I was made aware of the national organ transplant criteria, and the volume of unusable organs rejected in each city, each day. Our organization now disposes of those organs to our benefit. And with our contacts in rescue services and provincial coroner offices, that supply of human organs earmarked for waste increased even further."

Zane's expression softens, the storm cloud brewing in his gaze finally easing. "An innovative way to not only thrive but remain unnoticed, Lady Cassiane."

"Please, call me Cassi."

Zane smiles. "And you may call me Zane."

She seems to appreciate the informality and relaxes a little. "So, if your people were attacked, do you need blood?"

Zane shakes his head. "A turned army of vampires infiltrated our royal residence and held our children as leverage. Unable to fight back, my father was killed."

Cassiane places her fingers against her chest. "My deepest sympathies to you both. Were the children harmed?"

"No. We've secured our young and retaken our home. Tonight begins the search for answers. I want to know who came after my people and where they are hiding."

"And how do you believe I can help with that?"

Zane dips his chin. "Turning an army of vampires to follow your command comes at a price. Fledglings suffer from an insatiable hunger and the sire's health is depleted. For any true-blood to turn as many followers as we believe our enemy has, he would need access to a notable feeding source. It seems Clare believes DonorWatch might be that source."

Behind the best intentions of a queen working to transition her people into the Human Realm lies a network that keeps more than just demons alive.

Cassi frowns. "Gentlemen, since you know who my husband is, you must know his calling in life."

I nod. "The Watchers of the Gray police the feeding quotas of darkworlders in the Human Realm, and ensure the citizens of the city remain unaware."

Cassi nods. "Correct. So, if someone genuinely needed the services of DonorWatch to keep a group of young vampires level, I would offer them the help they need to ensure the safety of the innocent and the anonymity of our existence."

"So, you're saying you would side with assassins and those who terrorize children rather than help us?" Zane snaps, his tone sharp.

Cassi frowns. "I'm saying that I wouldn't take sides at all. It's not my place to get involved in the politics of other races. We simply offer a life-saving service to those who need it."

Zane stretches his neck to the side, and I shift my stance to ensure he doesn't get any big ideas like threatening the beloved mate of a dark angel.

"Tread lightly," I say, hoping Zane will remember Clare's warning and drop the hostility. "This isn't her battle."

Cassi cups her hands in front of herself and offers us a sympathetic smile. "I am deeply sorry for your loss and can honestly say that I do not know of a vampire—true-blood or otherwise—siring an army. If they used DonorWatch as a source of feeding, it was through the proper privacy channels, and I respect them for keeping those fledglings off the streets."

Zane steps closer, his voice low and insistent. "You're sitting on a pipeline of resources. If the vampires coming after my people are being supplied by this company, I will shut that down hard."

The atmosphere of the room shifts. Cassiane's gaze hardens, and the air grows colder, crackling with the power she's keeping under wraps. "Don't mistake my manners for weakness, Master Vasari. It's time you continue your search elsewhere."

Before I can intervene, the door at the back of the room opens and three ebony-winged nightmares comes storming through it.

Nephilim warriors are intimidating enough sitting across a bar tossing back a drink. Having them baring down on you with their hands on the hilt of their crystalline daggers and their massive wings turning the room into a landscape of dark feathers and harsh shadows is enough to make even the toughest of men shit themselves.

But Zane isn't a normal man, and he doesn't back down.

A territorial growl tears from the blond warrior leading the charge. Just fucking great.

"She answered your question, bloodsucker." Kyrian's voice carries the menace that comes from a being who is used to being obeyed. "It's time for you to leave."

Zane's body tenses beside me, and I don't even need to see him to know his fangs have descended past his lips and his eyes have flipped crimson. He gets like this right before he tears through enemies without a second thought.

This is a clusterfuck about to happen.

I step between them, holding up my hands. "We understand your wife's position, Watcher. Our apologies for pushing the issue. We'll be on our way."

Kyrian's eyes narrow, his wings flaring slightly behind him like he's ready to envelop the room in darkness. But he and his friends stay where they are, letting me guide Zane back toward the door. I keep my shoulders relaxed, but my grip on Zane's arm tight enough to let him know this isn't optional.

Cassiane watches us go, her expression unreadable.

I think she genuinely feels for us, but her business relies on dealing with members of the otherworld. It makes sense that she might not want to get involved.

And she obviously doesn't cower when bullied.

The night air is a relief as we step out of DonorWatch, and I release my hold on Zane's arm. "Fucking hell, Z. Did you not hear Clare tell us to play nice? Having the Watchers on our side could've been helpful."

He turns on me, his eyes blazing with anger, fangs still bared. "She's got the answers we need. We were sent here by a fucking oracle. Do you not think there's a reason?"

I keep my voice calm, measured. This is where I have to keep my head cool, even if Zane can't. "But pushing the demon queen and her husband won't get us any closer to answers. You set the tone for the seethe now. How would Bran and your father have handled this?"

"Bran and my father are dead," Zane spits, the words sharp with frustration. "And the people responsible for that are dancing around in the shadows, plotting to tear down their legacy. We can't let that fucking happen."

I know he's right. I saw the mess rogue vampires made when I was a teenager—families slain, human bodies drained and dumped like garbage. My parents died in the fight to stop that from happening.

Knowing that it's happening again makes me sick.

But this situation is more delicate than Zane wants to admit. "Then we find the information a different way. Clare set us on a path, and we can take it from here. We'll figure it out. We'll find out who's behind this."

Zane grits his teeth and the muscle in the side of his jaw flexes. His frustration is apparent, but he's listening. He scans the dark streets and then runs a hand through his dark hair. "Fine, but we need to make progress fast. All eyes are on me to lead Toronto and if I don't look like I can get the job done, whoever is behind this will have even more power."

I let out a slow breath. "We won't let that happen. I promise. We'll find these fuckers, Z, and we'll put them down hard for what they've done."

Zane scowls at the empty curb where Jaxon was supposed to be parked. "Where the fuck did he go?"

I pull my phone out of my pocket just as the energy in the air shifts and the shadows hemorrhage a dozen vampires. "I don't think we'll have any trouble finding the enemy, Z. It seems they've found us."

Zane lets off a feral growl and drops into a fighting stance, releasing the claws of his beast. "Leave one alive to interrogate. The rest die."

I glance at him and my mental hamster is stuck in its wheel. Leave one alive? We'll be lucky to come out of this alive. Still, he's got enough fury boiling in him to make the fight interesting.

I take a tactical stance and turn my back to him. "What ever you do, Z, keep that head of yours firmly on your shoulders, yeah?"

Zane grunts. "That's the plan."

Zane

My fangs extend, adrenaline spiking through my veins. The army closes in, jockeying for position. A few look threatening, but none are worth worrying about. Most expose themselves as recent turns simply by the way they carry themselves.

And then I see the burgundy hair.

It's the first time I've seen Daeva in person, but that she's even breathing my air brings a rush of bile up the back of my throat. An indescribable rage, the likes of which I've never felt before, pulses through my veins.

I'm consumed by it.

My cells vibrate with it.

I close my eyes to keep from losing control and see her in my mind's eye, holding up my father's head and laughing.

Fucking laughing.

I bare my fangs as they move closer, forming a loose circle around us. "Let blood be spilled."

Huntley growls, cracking his knuckles. "We'll fucking bathe in it."

The first of Daeva's men lunges, and I move to meet him in a blur. My fist connects with his face, and the shattering of his jaw beneath my knuckles is satisfying. He stumbles back, dazed, but another takes his place immediately, swiping at me with claws that barely miss my face.

I duck and spin, catching him by the arm and twisting it hard enough to snap the bone. He howls, but there's no time to finish him—two more rush at me from either side. I block one's punch with my forearm, driving my elbow into the face of the other. Blood sprays across the pavement, but it's not enough to slow them down.

Beside me, Huntley is a whirlwind of violence. He slams his opponent into the brick wall of a nearby building, using the force to shatter their spine. But as soon as he puts one down, three more are on him, clawing and snapping with feral desperation.

"They move in a fucking swarm!" Huntley throws one off with a grunt, but takes a nasty swipe across his chest that tears through his shirt.

Some bastard slams into me from behind, driving me to my knees. I twist around, grabbing his head in both hands and snapping his neck. It buys me only a second of breathing room before another sinks his claws into my shoulder, drawing blood.

I roar in pain, slamming my elbow into his face and tossing him off, but the force of their numbers is wearing us down. My beast revels in the physicality of killing these abominations. My muscles burn, my vision warping as my instincts take over and I go full savage.

For every enemy we eliminate, two more take their place.

Huntley's back is against mine now, the two of us scrambling to fight off the tide of turned vampires. His breath is ragged, but he's still holding his own, still fighting like the ruthless bastard I've known for years.

We're stronger than them—born vampires always are—but they have the advantage of numbers, and it's only a matter of time before one of them lands a lucky blow.

A claw rakes across my side, and I grunt, feeling the sting as a rush of hot blood soaks into my clothes. I lash out with a kick that sends one of the turned vampires sprawling, but another grabs me from behind, pinning my arms. I snarl, straining against his grip, but then another joins him, teeth sinking into my shoulder.

"Zane!" Huntley's voice is strained with worry. He's struggling too, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, his arm twisted at a painful angle as he fends off a pair of attackers.

Damn it. This isn't how it's supposed to end. Not cornered in some forgotten alleyway, taken down by a horde of bottom-feeders.

My vision blurs with pain, desperation clawing at my chest… and then a deafening roar splits the night, followed by a blur of motion.

One of the turned vampires pinning me is torn away with a wet crunch—his head ripped clean off.

Tucker.

He barrels through the horde like a living battering ram, his otherworld strength on full display as he tears through the attackers. His claws flash in the dim light, ripping through flesh like paper, and the turned vampires skitter back to reassess their advantage when faced with an unknown predator far more dangerous than they expected.

Scottie is right behind him, her movements a deadly dance as she wields a silver-tipped baton, the crackle of her squire magic arcing through the air with each strike. She brings it down on the skull of a turned vampire, and the crack echoes in the air even after he's crumpled to the ground.

I'm infused with renewed strength and wrench free from the grip of the vampire holding me, snapping his neck with a vicious twist.

Huntley regains his footing beside me, his face set in grim determination as we press the attack, driving the turned vampires back.

Scottie moves like a whirlwind, her baton a blur as she strikes, each blow landing with brutal precision. She catches my eye for a split second, her expression fierce, and I can't help but feel a surge of admiration.

She's always been a fighter.

Tucker is a force of nature, his massive frame plowing through the attackers with bone-crushing strength. He grabs two vampires by the neck, slamming their heads together with a sickening crack before tossing their limp bodies aside.

With the four of us working together, the horde finally thins. The ground is littered with broken bodies, and the remaining turned vampires falter, their desperation turning to concern as they realize they are no longer the hunters.

With Tucker's strength and Scottie's speed, the tide has shifted in our favor.

When the three dark angels step out of DonorWatch and fan out in front of the glass window of the clinic, our attackers seem to truly admit defeat.

Not that the Watchers are involving themselves in our fight—they won't. Their directive is to police otherworld behavior and ensure it doesn't impact humanity or expose the existence of preternatural races.

Their presence is a cue that we need to end this before some unsuspecting human stumbles upon us. Although, by the way the fine mist in the air is making the skin on my arms tingle, I'm willing to bet one of them has shrouded our fight from view.

Still, this needs to end.

Huntley offers me a quick nod and I search for Daeva. She hung to the back of the pack like a coward and now I don't see her at all.

Fucking bitch.

One of the last remaining vampires lunges at Scottie, but I'm there before he can reach her, driving my fist through his chest and ripping out his heart. He crumples at my feet, and for a moment, there's silence, the area filled with nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing.

I glance around at the carnage, my hands slick with blood, my chest heaving. Scottie lowers her baton, her eyes scanning the shadows for any remaining threats.

There are none. All the turned vampires—including Daeva—have bugged out.

Tucker straightens. His expression is grim, but there's a faint gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

Huntley wipes blood from his mouth, giving me a weary grin. "Not bad for a night's work."

I let out a breathless sigh, adrenaline still thrumming in my veins. "But I'd bet the most dangerous fight is only getting started."

Scottie steps closer, her furious glare sizing me up. "Right you are, asshole. What the actual fuck, Zane?"

I'm about to respond, to make up some placating excuse for why we left without her when my senses pick up her scent. Aside from the anger, sweat, and blood, there's an unmistakable ode to orgasm.

My brain shorts out and my beast rages. I have Tucker by the throat, slammed up against the wall of the next building before I can even wrap my head around it. "You two had sex? I'll fucking gut you for touching what is mine."

Tucker palm strikes my chest and knocks me off my feet. He straightens his arm with the force of a freight train, and I sail through the air backward and slam into the wall of the next building.

He chuckles, low and deep. "Scotland isn't chattel, Zane. You don't own her, and you don't get to decide for her. From what I hear, you already made that mistake, and it ended badly for both of you."

I'm back on my feet, crouched, and attack again. "You know nothing about us."

I'm almost within striking distance when Scottie steps between us. Her baton cracks me across the chest and shoulder, knocking me spinning to the side. "Get a grip, Zane. I can fuck the entire city if I want to, and you get no say. I've been gone for years. Do you think I've been celibate? Have you?"

Huntley barks a laugh, and I send him a warning glare.

"I didn't think so." She glares at me. "Tucker and I are both attractive, unattached adults. There's no reason we can't explore the connection we share, and it's no business of yours if we do."

"It is my business," I protest. "You're my Sacred Squire."

Scottie laughs. "No, I'm not. If I were, you wouldn't have taken off the minute I was upstairs. If you truly respected me as your squire the way your father respected mine, you never would've fucked off and left me behind."

"Scots, I'm?—"

"Don't Scots me," she snaps, holding up her hand. "We need to clean up this mess and then get your asses into the truck and back to the house. That's it. That's all. The end."

She storms off, throwing me her middle finger over her head. Tucker takes her in and chuckles. "You gotta love a girl with fire."

Yeah, that's the problem. I do love that girl.

So, step the fuck off.